


The Paranormal Investigation Team

by highboys (orphan_account)



Category: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, Gilbert isn't nuts, there's seriously a crazy ghost stalking Francis, damn it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Paranormal Investigation Team

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://maplesandroses.livejournal.com/profile)[**maplesandroses**](http://maplesandroses.livejournal.com/) ' springtime in Montreal prompt #1.

Gilbert wonders about Francis’s tastes in acquaintances. They haven’t been friends for long – only three months since the semester started, really – but he figures that it should have been enough time for him to realize that Francis, while eclectic in his own way, picks up companions from other classes like a blind owl with no sense of direction whatsoever. Francis doesn’t look like Arthur Kirkland’s type; if anything, Francis looks like a sleaze bag decked out in the finest clothes the season has to offer, fashionable but still a sleaze bag nonetheless, but it could be Gilbert’s biased opinion after Francis flirted with Elizabeta in anthropology class. He had _dibs_ , damn it.

“Are you sure your best friend isn’t part of some cult?” Gilbert mock-whispers, eyeing the staircase with distrust. The wood creaks under Francis’ weight, and Gilbert’s waiting for Francis’ foot to smash through the plane so he could laugh at him and leave him there until morning, but it doesn’t give way. Gilbert raises his foot, and hesitates.

“Arthur’s not my friend,” snorts Francis. “Just a classmate I need to borrow notes from, alright?”

“This place gives me the creeps. My _closet's_ cleaner than this,” says Gilbert.

“Antonio’s _presents_ give you the creeps and I don’t see what the fuss is. A thong --"

"Didn't we promise to never talk about that?"

" -- is a perfectly acceptable article of clothing to give to a person you have lunch with everyday, in his defense. It’s also probably cleaner than this wreck.”

Francis runs a finger over the banister, sneering at the dust. Gilbert nudges past him, scowling. “Whatever, let’s just _go_ , okay?”

Gilbert pulls him to the room number scrawled haphazardly on Gilbert's palm (Francis had no desire to mar his skin with any of Arthur's imperfections, even if it were just a room number) and knocks on the door. He eyes it, like all things, with mild distrust.

"This place," complains Gilbert, again, "is a dump."

Francis shrugs. It's not that Arthur's lacking in funds; it's just that Arthur has his eccentricities in spite of his obsessive compulsiveness.

("He's really weird," Alfred said, last week in economics class, but it was _Alfred_ so no one could be sure.

"Try fucking psycho," snorted Lovino, and they high-fived each other; clearly, insulting people was the only way for them to get along.)

"Just a minute," comes Arthur's voice, loud but still rough and sleep-worn. It takes more than that for Arthur to fumble with the locks, and he pokes his head through the small space he opens. "Oh, it's _you_."

"Right," says Francis, pleasantly. "I need your notes, rosbif."

"You realize I have a warm pot of tea waiting to be thrown in your face?"

"I'm sorry, let's try that again. I need your notes, you barbaric cretin."

"Okay," says Gilbert, jamming his foot against the door jamb, just in case, "he needs notes and I need to get out of the twilight zone. Can we come in?"

Arthur looks put out, but Gilbert, like any well-mannered guest, plows his way past him. The inside looks better than he would have expected given the rest of the building's interior (alright, perhaps he could give _some_ concessions to the exterior, too), but the wallpaper is a garish shade of yellow that makes Gilbert want to gouge out his eyes. Looking at Francis, the option is starting to appear viable to him, too.

"Nice wallpaper," says Gilbert, managing not to snigger.

"Thank you," says Arthur, completely missing the point. "Have a seat, I guess."

Francis considers the nearest arm chair, only Arthur throws a sugar cube at him. "Not _you_ , wanker. I'll be back in a moment."

"Cool," says Gilbert, plopping down on the nearest couch, ready to warm his ass off for as long as it takes Arthur to chant death threats to Francis from the other room. Or, he would have, but apparently the seat is occupied by a young, mousy-looking boy with glasses that keep slipping from his nose. He slides off the other's lap and onto the floor. "Sorry, didn't notice you there."

“Hi?” The kid looks hopeful, almost, like he never gets any attention. It's almost pathetic.

Gilbert waves at him, experimentally. Francis doesn't even look up from checking Arthur's bookshelf for porn. "What are you apologizing for?" Francis asks, sounding distant.

"It's just --"

Arthur comes out from his study, armed with a notebook and a few more sugar cubes, presumably to act as projectiles. He throws the notes to Gilbert's lap and shoves the sugar cubes into the back of Francis' coat. It would have worked better if it were ice. "Here you go. Now get out. And Gilbert, you didn't have to sit on the floor when the sofa's vacant."

"Huh?" Gilbert says, very intelligently.

"Thank you," says Francis, plucking the sugar out of his clothes. "I hope you get sick so I don't have to see your face tomorrow."

"I'd show up and infect you anyway," sneers Arthur.

"Yeah, so, whatever," says Gilbert, steering Francis out of the room before the fight escalated. "Didn't know you had a roommate, so we're just going to go now."

Arthur walks them to the bottom of the door, looking puzzled. "What are you talking about? I don't have a roommate."

The boy, hovering behind Arthur, waves. Gilbert, ever the epitome of manliness and courage, screams and runs out of the room and into the hallway, leaving Francis and Arthur blinking in his wake.

"Oh dear," says Francis, "I wonder if Lars gave him too much weed last night."

  


Setting: the cafeteria, fifteen hours later. Antonio is busy annihilating zombies and saving the world -- er, his backyard -- with plants, and Lovino watches the screen, with mild disdain. Elizabeta pauses in her massacre of home-made goulash, a carrot dangling from her fork, only to turn back to consuming her vegetables. If she stares at it long enough, maybe Gilbert will go away. Roderich made his escape fifteen minutes ago, when Gilbert first opened his mouth. Gilbert, undaunted by the fact that other things are deemed more interesting than his presence, continues with his tirade.

"I'm telling you, my third sense isn't lying!"

"It's sixth sense," says Antonio, tongue poking out of his mouth as he leans closer to his laptop. "And I think you're taking too many hallucinogens."

"It's probably the loony pills," agrees Lovino, scornfully. He would add _idiot_ , but such language would be inappropriate in front of a lady such as Elizabeta.

"Lovino!" Antonio reprimands, not missing a beat. Gilbert ignores both of them.

"There's a ghost in Arthur's room and it _spoke_ to me! I can't believe you guys aren't eating this up, I'm probably the next _prophet_ or something."

"Who died and made you Jesus?"

"Shut it, you twerp. I don't care if your brother comes crying to me when I hit you. It said --"

"Braaaains," says Antonio's speakers. "Braaaaains."

"Sorry," says Antonio, sheepishly.

"Loony pills," mouths Lovino to Elizabeta, only Elizabeta's busy looking out of the window. Outside, Alfred and Ivan are fighting again. In seventy seconds, they're probably going to indulge in hate sex and exhibitionism of the raunchiest kind and Elizabeta will miss it because Gilbert is an asshole and her friends are morons.

"Hey, just because _you_ don't have my powers of awesome --"

"Enough," says Elizabeta, spearing a piece of meat with her fork with the viciousness of a thousand Amazons on a man hunt. "I have class in fifteen minutes, and if you don't drop the issue, I will smack you so hard you'll meet your maker."

Gilbert sags against his seat, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Sure," he moans, "abuse the clairvoyant. You people are just jealous of my skills."

"He's being arrogant," says Lovino. "Hit him. _Please_."

Francis waltzes past Antonio's place, ruffling his hair. "What's up?"

Gilbert would have said something had he not noticed the ghost trailing after Francis with the air of a kicked puppy. Instead, he shrieks and clutches at Elizabeta's arm.

"Hello to you too," says Francis, clearly unimpressed.

"IT'S HIM," says Gilbert, pointing at ghost-boy. "IT'S HIM IT'S HIM IT'S HIM."

"Who?" Elizabeta asks, not registering anything behind Francis other than that adorable Swedish boy perving on Tino from literature class with the most divine rape face he could manage, even if he doesn't mean to.

"Ah," says Francis, shrugging out of his scarf. "His imaginary ghost. This is ridiculous, even for you, my friend."

"Can't you _see_ him?" Gilbert moans into Elizabeta's shoulder. His mouth leaves an unsightly trail of drool against her cashmere sweater, but she forgets to hit him for it when, after approximately 5 seconds of straining her eyes, she sees it too.

Lovino turns his head. "I don't see any -- _holy shit_ how can someone materialize out of thin air like that."

Francis picks up his scarf, once more. "Right. I'm going to class," says Francis, in his best you-people-are-crazy-why-do-I-hang-out-with-you voice. Ghost-boy waves at Gilbert, once more, before following Francis, presumably in search for his --

"BRAAAAAAINS," says Antonio's laptop.

"Sounds about right," says Antonio, unperturbed. He stretches, and looks at the rest of the group. "Did I miss anything?"

  


**THE PARANORMAL INVESTIGATION TEAM, CASE ONE:**

"We need a name for this case," says Lovino, pen poised above the sketch pad he filched from Feliciano's bag.

"More like we need a new _name_ ," says Gilbert, sulking on one of Antonio's stools. Beside him, Feliciano titters, and Ludwig throws him a concerned look from where he's brewing coffee in the kitchen counter. "It's a stupid name."

"I don't know," says Antonio, "I kinda like it. It makes me feel scientific."

Gilbert wants to tell him that there is nothing scientific about supernatural shit hitting the fan, but it isn't half as fun without Elizabeta there to rein him in. Thinking about her suddenly makes his mood sour, especially after she bailed out on him after class to 'check out something'. Probably off to make eyes at Roderich again, or to spy on other boys. What a bitch.

"Help," says Lovino, "he's spacing out again. Do something about it before he does something stupid like _thinking_."

"He's just pissy because Elizabeta ditched him," says Antonio, cheerfully handing Lovino and Feliciano mugs of hot chocolate.

"Ah," says Lovino, smirking. "Off on a date with her boyfriend?"

"Roderich's not her boyfriend," says Gilbert, at the same time as Antonio saying, "no, she's coming over soon."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"He's not," insists Gilbert.

"Brother, _please_ ," says Ludwig, sighing. Romano narrows his eyes at him, but goes back to smirking at Gilbert from his perch. Brat.

They nurse their drinks and argue about organizational matters ("Since when were _you_ the leader?" "Since I said so, hah!") until Elizabeta enters the back door, armed with a folder of files and a cup of coffee. "So I checked out the school records and I found out something interesting," says Elizabeta, dumping the folder on the nearest available surface, i.e. Gilbert's lap.

Gilbert wheezes. "Did you steal this crap?"

"Shut up! Elizabeta would never resort to stealing!" Romano says, temper flaring at the slightest sign that Gilbert antagonizes the _beautiful, wonderful lady_ ; Romano's brain works in a sexist sort of sense, defining 'lady' by virtue of Elizabeta possessing tits and a vagina, barring her personality and mannerisms. Clearly, he's never seen her shove a man's face into a pile of dirt.

"She's not denying it, you know," says Antonio, earning an elbow to the side for his efforts.

"Thank you, darling," says Elizabeta, simpering.

"Weren't you supposed to be with your boyfriend," says Gilbert, rolling his eyes.

"Roderich's not my boyfriend," says Elizabeta, pointedly. "Drop it, okay?"

Ludwig clears his throat, ignoring the way Feliciano is discretely playing footsie with his thigh under the table. "Can we please go back to the issue at hand?" At the same time, Lovino chortles and says, "BUUURN!"

Elizabeta lets her raised fist fall to her side. "So, anyway. This kid that's been haunting Francis? His name's Matthew Williams. He's a student. Or, well, was."

"Did he get expelled?" Feliciano asks, letting his toes wander a little higher up. Ludwig turns cherry red. _Score_.

"I have his attendance records," says Elizabeta, yanking open the folder and rifling through it with a single-minded determination often reserved for stalking and preying on underage boys that look like girls. "He hasn't been to school since his freshman year, which is around two years ago."

She passes the files over to Ludwig, who raises an eyebrow. "His record's more pitiful than brother's."

"Hey," says Gilbert, "I have perfectly legitimate reasons for slacking off!"

Antonio hums. "So why's he following Francis around?"

Gilbert perks up, and Lovino groans, throwing his head back. "Great," says Lovino, "you set him off."

"Okay, so my reasoning is that this kid is one of Francis' ancestors ready to take over his body for revenge on Arthur or something," says Gilbert, because, seriously? Why would he even be in Arthur's apartment in the first place? Ghost-boy probably figured out early on that Arthur was too occult for possession and strangely daft and insensitive to otherworldly beings.

"Bullshit," says Lovino. "I say he's after revenge. That, or Francis' money."

"Everything's about revenge to you," says Gilbert, rolling his eyes. _Italians_.

"He's a young boy in love," says Elizabeta, sighing. Once she'd gotten over the initial shock of witnessing a scene straight from a horror movie, Elizabeta had managed to turn it into an overly romantic interpretation of unrequited love and longing that transcended the boundaries of time and space.

"Or a jilted ex-boyfriend," says Antonio. "Can't say I've seen him before, exactly, but he _does_ look familiar."

Silence descends in Antonio's kitchen. Suddenly the memory of Francis' numerous angry (crazy) former lovers comes rushing back, and they think that if this ghost is anything like them, then they are totally fucked.

"I'm sure it can't be worse than Ivan's sister," says Ludwig, coughing to hide his trepidation. "So."

"Waiver forms," says Lovino, primly passing out a few sheets to all of them. "For insurance. I want to cash in just in case you guys die."

  


**  
~~CASE ONE: THE TALE OF TWO LOVERS~~   
**

**  
~~THE GHOST'S REVENGE~~   
**

**~~FRANCIS BONNEFOY MUST DIE~~** ~~wait, case one? You mean there's more? - LV~~

~~You guys, we seriously have to start finding more creative names - E~~

**CASE ONE**

**Goal:** To ~~exterminate~~ exorcise ~~Francis~~ Matthew Williams in order to ensure ~~that Gilbert will stop being a paranoid freak~~ his soul's eternal repose, Amen.

**Data Gathering**

"Do you know this boy?" Lovino says, waving the sketch in Francis' face. The lack of lighting is a little over the top, but Lovino insists that everything must be properly sinister to get Francis to 'fess up. Francis looks a little confused, even annoyed.

"No," says Francis, "I don't think I recognize anyone that resembles a five year old's rendition of a human male."

Lovino crumples the paper in his palm and makes a move to lunge at Francis, only Feliciano holds on to his arm and makes this pleading whine at the back of his throat that makes Lovino fold every time.

"I'll draw it, then," says Feliciano, consoling Lovino with a hug, only to be interrupted by a ruckus outside the room.

"YOU GUYS, HE'S IN THE BATHROOM," screams Gilbert, and everyone save Francis freaks out.

So much for that.

  


**Minutes of the meeting:**

_Unsuccessful interrogation_ , Lovino writes. _I'll get him next time_.

  


**THE PARANORMAL INVESTIGATION TEAM  
OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTS**

TRANSCRIPT 00034

TIME STAMP: 19:37

Members (by alphabetical order):

FELICIANO VARGAS (FV)  
LOVINO VARGAS (LV)

LV: -- bastard _knows_ something. My art skills are fine and I _swear_ he looked nervous for a second. [There is the sound of footsteps.] Did you get me a bottle of water?

FV: Here you go. Have you seen Ludwig?

LV: Why would I have anything to do with that potato bastard?

FV: Please be nice to him? [There is a seven-second pause.]

LV: Whatever.

FV: Please?

[There is a five-second pause.]

LV: Fine. [There is the sound of a shoe scraping against the cement, presumably LV's.] Look, I -- I'm sorry, okay? About kicking you when we were getting out of the room. I was just scared, you know?

FV: I figured. It still hurt, though.

LV: Shouldn't you be used to it? [There is the sound of a smack, presumably from FV.] God _damn_ it, where did you learn to hit like that?

FV: Ludwig taught me. Does that make us even now, brother?

LV: Even, yeah, whatever. Just don't tell Grandpa I did it, or I'll kick your ass.

FV: [A laugh, presumably FV's.] Okay. But I don't think we can help you out anymore if you want me to help you save face.

LV: Oh, _fuck off_.

[TIME STAMP: 19:45]

  


"This is a stupid idea," announces Lovino, arms akimbo. Elizabeta isn't around, so Lovino figures that he should voice out both of their concerns, just to whittle down at Gilbert's bloated self-esteem. Too bad it doesn't seem to work.

"What are you talking about," says Gilbert, trying to be conspicuous but failing. "Aren't _you_ the devout Catholic boy?"

"You know, if spirits are aggravated enough, they'll switch from their original goal to the least religious person at hand," says Lovino, meaningfully eyeing Gilbert.

"Oh, shut it," says Gilbert, pushing him out of the bush they're hiding in, "I'm _way_ more spiritual than you."

"Quiet," hisses Antonio into the walkie talkie, "they're coming!"

They wait until Francis walks past their hiding place, and after a few seconds they catch sight of Ghost-boy ducking out of a tree. In the sunlight, he looks translucent. Immaterial, almost. Gilbert shudders, and Lovino says a prayer.

"Stay back!" Gilbert hollers, jumping out of the bush and brandishing his necklace for all its worth. "Begone, evil spirit!" Ghost-boy just blinks at them, tilting his head.

"Gilbert?" Francis says, voice incredulous. "What are you _doing_?"

"It's not working," moans Lovino. "Your cross necklace is _defective_. I told you we should have carted in a five-foot tall crucifix!"

Ghost-boy raises a finger and someone -- they can't remember who, maybe both of them -- yells, "RUN FOR IT!"

Phase one: failed.

  


Phase two is supposed to involve a lot of leather, a wooden stake, a wreath of garlic, and boasting rights. None of them has any leather pants save for Gilbert, and Lovino injures his thumb in an attempt to fashion a wooden stake out of an old crib. Antonio doesn't have any garlic at hand, and the lack of an audience takes away the fun part about bragging.

Phase two _sucks_.

"I don't think a plastic straw is gonna cut it, Gilbert," says Antonio, pointedly poking at Ghost-boy, who looks near-tears. If he weren't so invisible half the time, they'd think twice about their assumptions.

"Of course it wouldn't work," says Lovino, grimacing at the smell of his own onion breath. "He's not a fucking vampire."

"Loony pills," says Elizabeta, despairing.

Phase two: failed.

  


"When I said I was okay with rituals, I didn't mean satanic ones," says Lovino, backing away from Gilbert's newly-renovated room.

"I got Arthur to fix this shit up for me," says Gilbert, waggling his eyebrows. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"One day," says Lovino, "I will laugh when you get possessed, I swear."

Elizabeta takes a deep breath, rubbing her forehead. "We could always try incense."

Phase three: aborted.

  


Later:

"Holy shit, you guys," said Antonio, laughing. "Gilbert's pants are on fire!"

Phase four: aborted.

  


"It's like he has outrageously good luck or something," says Gilbert, face down on the cafeteria table. "Someone, please tell me what kind of evil trumps good."

"You know what?" Antonio says, mindlessly poking at his pizza. "Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way. Maybe we're not supposed to intervene."

"It's love," says Elizabeta, sighing, again.

"Oh, please," says Lovino. "Gilbert wouldn't understand love if it hit him."

Gilbert twitches, looking away from watching Elizabeta's fingers primp her hair. "Tell that to Francis."

"I'm right here, you know," says Francis, leaning over Gilbert's shoulder to inspect his bag of chips. "Ugh, _calories_."

Everyone else stammers out excuses when they spy Ghost-boy seated in the table behind Francis, and Francis crinkles his nose as he watches them leave. "You'd think I have the plague or something," says Francis, mournfully.

"You're a walking STD, but don't worry, Francis," says Gilbert, gravely, "I'll still be your friend even when he takes you to the other world. Just don't pull me in with you, okay? I'm still waiting for Liz to put out."

Gilbert claps him on the shoulder and waves at Matthew, and Francis looks vaguely puzzled. "Am I missing something important?"

Matthew sighs, and eats his lunch.

"I don't think your friends like me much," observes Matthew, shredding a sheet of tissue with nervous, clumsy fingers, like a tiny, nervous hamster. Cute. Francis dumps his book bag on top of Matthew's bag, smiling crookedly. "They thought I was a ghost."

"I think I prefer it," says Francis, cheerfully. "More for me, when you're invisible."

"You're so mean," whimpers Matthew, visibly deflating. "I don't know why I even put up with you. And stop staring, I feel like I'm being stripped."

Francis leans forward, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin of Matthew's hand. His knuckles loosen their clenching, and Matthew sneaks a small, secret smile at him. "Perfect," says Francis, and it is.

  


**CASE CLOSED.**


End file.
